Dora was lost in wonder—“Where does the water come from?”
“Some time ago at a meeting of scientists that very question came up for discussion but no definite conclusion was arrived at,” said Mr. De Vere. “In my opinion it comes from drainage. The lake lies in a depression and on three sides the shores are composed of shelving rock which slopes toward the lake. These rocks are thickly covered with moss and bushes and the moss absorbs all moisture falling on it, and, as the evaporation is slight, it gradually drains into the lake. To substantiate this, the one shore which is more depressed forms an outlet for the water after it has risen to a certain height and from which issues a gurgling brook. In times of drought the water recedes and the brook ceases to flow.”
“Maratanza” she mused, “another of your beautiful Indian names.”
“Yes,” replied Mr. De Vere, “Lake Maratanza was recorded as such in the old capital of Ulster County over one hundred years ago, and derived its name from a Delaware squaw who, with her little papoose, was drifting idly over the surface of the lake in a birch-bark canoe when the first white man came to its shores. Suddenly her dark-eyed mate concealed among the bushes near cried out: ‘Maratanza, white man’s come!’
“‘Indian ghosts are all about us,
And ’tis whispered ’mong the pines:
Maratanza’s shade still wanders
O’er the lake in cloudy lines.’”
“Allow me to present you with the first huckleberries of the season, Dora,” said Hernando, handing her a sprig of fully ripened berries. “Shawangunk berries are famous.”
“Huckleberries? I have never tasted one. They are delicious,” Dora replied.